


learning how to rise and fall

by gayzula



Series: by no means [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Chara Has Issues, Determined Chara, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Non-Binary Chara, Other, POV Second Person, Pre-Undertale, Reader Is Chara, SOULless Chara, and when i say slowly i mean sloooooooooowwwlyyy, chara is slowly dealing with their shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 07:05:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8739466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayzula/pseuds/gayzula
Summary: “That night,” your voice is quiet – but sharp. Asgore doesn’t react. “Mine and Asriel’s souls fused, and for a single moment… we were one being, truly in sync with each other. Our soul resonated as one, our heart was beating as one, and our mind was one.”
Asgore’s breath hitches. “Chara,” his voice sounds pained. “You remember that?”
“The thing is,” you speak up once more. “When we died as one, so did our soul."





	

**Author's Note:**

> yo. since english isn't my first language, there might be some mistakes. if you find any, please let me know, so i can correct them. thanks!
> 
> enjoy the fic.

You are fifteen, when you realize, one day, that you look the same, as if time itself froze that fateful day, as if it was avoiding you, not daring to leave any marks on you.

It is an ordinary day, you think; one, that will fade from your memory soon enough; when you make a mistake of looking into that damn mirror.

You rarely do so, nowadays, harboring intense _hatred_ for your reflection, for everything that you're hiding behind your eyes, for everything that you feel under your skin... You can pretend that you don't feel wrong, and you can pretend that you don't deserve feeling wrong, but nothing will ever change the fact that you _do._

True, you felt that wrongness before, but ever since you came back, that feeling _intensified_ by hundreds.

But you can avoid mirrors only so often, and sometimes, you catch yourself stealing a glance of your reflection. Though, you have to admit, you've gotten pretty good at pretending they doesn't exist, lately.

Which is _why_ your reflection startles you, and you're looking into the same red almond-shaped eyes, that have caused great unease in your old village - you remember a flash of a memory, and suppress it immediately - and your skin is paper white, all fragile-looking, freckles all over your rosy cheeks and button-like nose, and your lips are tightly pressed together in a thin line, complimenting the frown you're wearing, corners of your mouth slightly curled downwards. (You recall people constantly asking you if you're sad, then, later, if you're angry. You felt none of those until Asriel's death, you felt empty.) And your hair is the same auburn color, neatly cut, reaching just under your chin, and you remember it looked red in the sunlight, matching your eyes. Here, in the Underground, you haven't seen that color in four years.

Which is _the_ thought that sets you off.

Four years... such a long time since you fell. It is nearing three years since your deaths - yours and Asriel's - and, against all the odds; the person looking at you from the mirror is not a stranger.

Paintings fade, and houses crumble, and knives dull with time.

But not you.

_You_ are just as sharp now, as you were that day.

Flowers wither, and people die, and monsters disintegrate.

Yet you stay the same.

Children grow.

_Except  you don't._

(You cannot progress, and, perhaps, you think, that is the reason you cannot let yourself let go of him.

_And perhaps,_ you snap at yourself, _it's just a convenient excuse, you pathetic whelp._ )

You're fifteen-going-on-twelve, and you're a kid, but you're _not._

* * *

Asgore offers you his golden flower tea, a soft ghost of smile on his face.

The appearance of the flowers reminds you _strongly_ of buttercups, but the taste is different. Its taste is bitter, a reminder of where the flowers come from and how it came to the Underground.

"Asgore," you speak suddenly, which is very uncharacteristic of you.

He looks at you from across the table, and nods. "Yes. What is it, Chara?" His voice is deep and weary, and shadows loom behind his golden eyes. It doesn't look like he got enough sleep last night... but, then again, you suppose it isn't that surprising.

You say, "I noticed something this morning."

Asgore quirks an eyebrow, humming softly.

"I'm not aging," you answer his silent question. You have gotten pretty good at reading him, if you do say so yourself.

"That is," Asgore frowns, "disconcerting. I was under impression humans age in constant speed?"

You nod. "We do. We should be."

"Hmm."

"But I still look twelve. I haven't aged a single day since I died."

His face darkens even further, and you hate making him feel that way. Asgore is about the only family you have left in this world. But this is _important._

"I am not sure if I can help you with your problem, Chara. Monsters age quite differently - we age with our children. It is a matter of our souls. The more our children grow, the more we age, and then they become adults, the energies of our souls reach zero, and we die."

"So the more children you have, the sooner you die?" you ask, catching on.

"Precisely. It is because we are not physical, thus we cannot have children in... a more traditional way, like the humans do."

It makes sense, you think. Monsters are dust held in a pseudo-physical shape by their souls. The frequency of the soul resonates with the rest and gives them conscience, which is exactly the reason for their psychological and emotional stability. Emotions, you could argue, is all that the monsters are.

"We lost... a lot of people, when Asriel died," you whisper softly, "didn't we?"

To which he blinks. "Why would you say so?"

"A lot of people would be upset if they lost their beloved prince, wouldn't they?"

But what you're really asking, is, _a lot of our people would suffer unbearable damage to their conscience, to their heart, if they knew there is no way of leaving the Underground in peace, wouldn't they? And isn't their psyche the only tangible part of them?_

And Asgore understands. "They were. We did."

He can read you just as well as _you_ can read _him,_ and you're not sure what to do with the realization. Be glad, be sad, be terrified.

It is with matters like these, that make you... somewhat grateful to be human. Being human makes this never-ending _ignore-pretend-continue-live_ cycle easier.

"So... a soul, huh," you say slowly, an idea forming in your mind. "So, for the monsterkind, aging is directly connected to their souls. Maybe…” you pause, unsure, how to word your next sentence, that is a mere theory, _an idea_ you got after Asgore’s explanation. Unsure, how to feel about it, you say, hesitantly, “what if humans aren’t as different as we think?”

“It _is_ true, that human souls are extremely strong,” Asgore allows, his gaze fixated on a blank space on a wall, almost looking _behind it_ – or, perhaps _through._

You pull him out of his flashback with a polite cough. When the spell breaks, he turns away. But not quick enough – and you catch his shadowed expression that makes him look so weary and old. _He’s as desperate as I am,_ you realize, _maybe even more so._ He must be one of the monsters that were originally sealed here, all those centuries ago.

“That night,” your voice is quiet – but sharp. Asgore doesn’t react. “Mine and Asriel’s souls fused, and for a single moment… we were one being, truly in sync with each other.” Something in your chest suddenly becomes heavy, and your throat is tight. Yet, you continue. You _need_ to. “Our soul resonated as one, our heart was beating as one, and our mind was one.”

Asgore’s breath hitches. “Chara,” his voice sounds pained. “You _remember that?”_

“Yes,” you answer simply, hoping your voice sounds neutral. “I remember dying and then I remember not being me anymore. When we died as one, I could not remember myself in death, nor I could remember Asriel. Though… his presence – or perhaps his memory – I’m not sure, I cannot remember that time clearly – brought me back.”

Silence.

“We wondered, Toriel and I,” he mutters, “but you never said anything.”

“Yeah.”

It’s heavy, this honest conversation. The words are harder and harder to find the more truthful you are. You guess it’s appropriate.

“The thing is,” you speak up once more. “When we died as one, so did our soul. It shattered, and we were no more. Asriel was no more. Chara was no more. I…”

“Yes?” he encourages you, sensing your hesitation.

_Might as well,_ you decide.

“I haven’t been exactly myself since I died. But. I was awakened – or a shadow of what I used to be.”

“And you stopped aging.”

“Yes.”

“So you believe you are soulless.”

“Yes.”

“Is that even possible?”

“Possibly. Can’t be sure until I get a definite proof.”

“How about initiating a fight?” he suggests. “Monsters can draw out your soul, so if there truly is nothing to summon, we will know.”

You nod. “Yes. This is precisely what I had in my mind.”

“But only if you’re sure about this, Chara.”

“I _am,”_ you keep pressing. “I need to do this.”

He huffs out, “I understand.”

Asgore takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes, concentrating on the frequency of his own soul. You can feel powerful aura arise around him, all of the sudden, and the intensity of it hits you hard, making it hard for you to breathe. It’s _intimidating._ No wonder he’s a king, you think.

It occurs to you, _he must’ve been a terrifying force during the war._

Then, something invisible yanks your insides, as if searching for something. Your soul, you pressume. The pressure keeps getting bigger and bigger – you pant, you gasp, your eyes go wide – and it _doesn’t_ stop.

Then the world turns black, leaving only yourself and Asgore present.

It lasts only a second – _you_ last only a second before you fall apart.

Screaming, you keep falling and falling, and black goes void and Asgore disappears, and there’s _nothing –_ no ground, no air, no sound, no Asgore, no you.

Nothing.

* * *

You’re facing a shadow.

“So you are here again,” says a soft, distorted voice. “I wondered how long you would last,” they say in a whisper.

“Who are you?!” you bark out, shifting into a defensive position, your hands in fists and ready to hit. _Where are the knives when you need them?_

Laughter.

It sends chills down your spine.

“Surprising. So not even you remember,” they trail off. “No matter. We _will_ meet again, little dreamer. Now it’s time to wake up.”

And then the world comes back to you all at once.

* * *

Someone is shouting your name.

A soft breeze brushes against your cheek, and oxygen fills your lung and as you are exhaling, your eyes open. _Too bright._ And your ears are ringing, and the next thing you notice is a pressure on your shoulders. Your gaze travels to your left arm – a soft, big hand is holding you.

A shout, again, “Chara!”

Then, a tight, bone-crushing hug.

But your body is numb and you do not embrace Asgore in return. You’re just… there.

When he lets you out, his eyes are warm. Asgore looks like he’s barely holding tears. Then he shakes his head, and smiles – and that look is gone.

Blunt as ever, you say, “I was dead… wasn’t I?”

And Asgore doesn’t answer – his hands are gripping yours, as if he is trying to reassure himself you’re not gone, and you don’t deserve his love.

_If only he knew._

“Huh,” you think aloud, and when you realize this, you feel a lot more vulnerable, all of the sudden. Since when did you get so comfortable at expressing yourself openly? “I think we can confirm it by now. I cannot die.”

Three times you died. Three times you lived.

“Chara,” he mumbles. “There was _nothing_ I could summon.”

But you already knew.

“It’s alright,” you smile, and you want to soothe his fears. “I’ll make do with that nothing. I already have, so far.”

And it’s a promise between the two of you, _I won’t let you shoulder your burden alone. I won’t let you lose me, so I will not lose myself. And I won’t let me lose you. You don’t deserve loneliness, and I don’t deserve getting mine._

No words need to be uttered. The spell doesn’t need to be broken.

* * *

Like every Thursday, you visit Asriel’s shrine in the Waterfall. He used to _love_ Thursdays.

You could never understand his irrational love for the day, so you used to argue with him, because seeing him get all defensive, his conviction on par with your determination, gave you life. It amused you and it frustrated him – but you couldn’t be fooled – you knew, he seceretly loved bantering with you as well.

So you would tell him, that the Thursdays are useless, what in the world makes them so special? And you would cross your arms as if to prove your point.

_You don’t understand,_ he would frown at you disapprovingly. _Thursdays are the midpoint of the week!_

Well, you would shrug, that is the common idea – and I don’t see how it would prove your point.

Anything _can happen on Thursday,_ he would lecture you with that smart voice of his you fell in love with. _Something good could happen on Thursday and turn a bad week around and make it better._

Yeah, you would agree, rolling your eyes. And you could fuck up a perfectly good week, too!

Which would _annoy_ Asriel to death. _Hey!_ he would exclaim. _Stop being so pessimistic all the time! And don’t use that kind of language – you know Mom doesn’t like it._

Stop trying to be a bigger person, you squirt, you would pat him on his head, even though he was only an inch shorter than you.

He _absolutely_ hated being called short by _you,_ which is exactly the reason you kept doing it. Spite still is a half of your motivation, even now.

_An inch!_ he would exclaim. _And wait till I grow up, I’ll be taller than you in no time!_

And you would laugh freely, and think, This is the closest I ever was, to being happy.

_You would be, Asriel,_ you agree with the memory of him, _if you didn’t die on a Thursday._

* * *

Constant.

Even.

This needs to end.

You can’t die and you can’t win, but you’ll be damned if you won’t keep trying

“I’ve decided,” you say on a Friday morning, voice firm. “I want to become your heir. I want you to train me.”

Asgore nods, and his stance is reflecting yours.

And then, there’s the shift – the one you were waiting for all along.

**Author's Note:**

> what the hell, where did the plot come from?? like, this series was supposed to be just oneshots about chara dealing with their guilt and accepting what happened but now i'm seriously considering making it into more of canon au timeline.
> 
> now i'm really curious where the story will take me, and i hope the next installment won't take me as long as this one.


End file.
